


Fevers

by oreiri



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28461201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oreiri/pseuds/oreiri
Summary: Everything’s glowing. Somehow, it’s like he’s always known summer was bright, but he’s noticing it for the first time and his heart is full. It’s a silly feeling but he thinks of Haruna and he’s washed away by the surge of unnamed emotion that rises to his head and makes his wrist shine.Or a Soulmate AU where your mark is whatever words your soulmate said to you when they became important to you
Relationships: Haruna Motoki/Mihashi Ren
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Wild fires

**Author's Note:**

> This has been the longest fic I've written (and completed!). I'm very thankful to all the friends that supported me and listened to me rant about this rare pair for like a year straight while I was working on this. Credits to @Klowbietales for the art and for helping me edit!! Happy New Year :))

It starts with suspicion, small at first. His knee’s recovery suddenly being overshadowed by a burgeoning discomfort in his shoulder, an unusual constant simmering anxiety that starts keeping him up. The uncanny, seemingly nonsensical, feeling that he is being intruded on.

It only grows from there. 

If his knee had been going weak when he realized it was injured, his shoulder leaned on the opposing feeling. It was growing unnaturally tense, like a knot that can’t be undone, tightening at every shift.

He avoids inspecting it closely. It differs in his knee in that he’s already stopped pitching by the time the pain started up. There’s no violent urgency to know the severity of the injury. He’s content in his worry. He’s content to ignore it.

A glowing burn sits on his shoulder.

With time, his worry morphes into something else. He alternates between clutching his knee and his shoulder in short intervals. He digs his nails wherever he can till he’s bruised and red. He starts to lean more heavily on one leg to avoid his discomfort. His worry splits and combines and then translates itself into fear induced anger. He sits awake at night. 

‘I should quit baseball’

He’d first thought about it in rehab. He thinks it when he watches TV, he thinks it when his teammates talk to him, and he thinks it when Akimaru hesitates to talk to him. Every time, it's punctuated by a flare in warmth. A feverish hot concentrated solely on his shoulder blade. 

His suspicion grows with his worry. 

There was a sharp pain in stillness and a twinge when he moved.

He develops a morbid fascination with this twinge, and starts to treat it like a scab to pick at. He would shift his shoulder constantly, rub his hand against it to soothe the persisting ache. He couldn’t stand to look closely, but he couldn’t put it out of his mind either. 

Something like a storm seems to have passed through his room. His blanket is strewn on the floor, whatever was on his desk is similarly scattered.

When he lays still for too long, his sheets start to feel too warm. He is stuck shifting and turning, until there is no cold untouched part left to his bed. It’s a perpetual discomfort that can’t be taken out of him. He rests uneasy, and he’s afraid that it won’t come to an end.

He thinks, ‘I should quit baseball’, and feels flames lick his back. He thinks that if he’d had eyes at the back of his head, he’d see red swaying back and forth, a flame and a warning sign of sorts. An internal alarm ringing in his head causing tremors in his hands. 

After every pitch, his hand shoots to his shoulder unconsciously. His shoulder doesn't hurt. It isn't supposed to. The burn is imagined and yet his pitches are more wild than usual. 

He starts to tell his teammates of his intention to quit. Not entirely sure why, the urge pushes the words out of his mouth and part of him doubts it's his own agency that is making him tell others. In fact, upon hearing his teammates suggestions not to quit the team but to switch to seniors, the burn in his shoulder marginally subsides. 

Before he's even had the chance to catch on, he realizes he's drowning in a feeling which all along hadn't been his. When he finally sees the evidence of a soulmark, his brain suddenly registers that this unusual feeling of anxiety did not originate from him. It seemed to stem from his shoulder. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with the sudden appearance of soulmarks.

Akimaru had gotten his when they were kids.

It was when they were settling the matter of who would pitch and who would catch. As if to answer, a soulmark repeating his words appeared in the palm of Akimaru’s hand. 

“You’ll catch”

That had settled it.

No words had appeared on Haruna at the time. They never talked about it.

He covers it easily with it being on his back. Had it not made itself known he may have taken much longer to find it. But it's a peculiar thing to him.

When he changes into his practice clothes in the morning, he realizes that putting on his shirt feels different to him. A conscious action he takes to hide something flitting wildly against his back. It almost seems to struggle against him. His shoulder connects to his hand, and the ball starts to feel like a bird. He pitches violently. His grip is too strong, and he knows that the thing on his back is soft as feathers. Is he choking it?

Haruna hates the words on his back.

They burn like they know. 

His back feels sad and mopey all the time. Some of it he knows is coming from the person on the other end. Some of it is just the words.

They react to him in dejected acceptance. A pathetic sort of pulling back. Affection still thrums lightly through them. 

This is the kind of person his soulmate is. He doesn’t dwell on it. It’s hard to see his soulmate as anything other than the words that seem to have taken on a personality of their own. 

He’s angry at them all the time. 

“Nice pitching Haruna!”

He feels them like a jab, doesn’t bother thinking any further. He’s focused on his anger, and feeds it intentionally. He gets a sick satisfaction when he looks at Akimaru and Akimaru looks away. 

He pitches hard, but he makes sure to never go over his pitch limit. 

The ache spreads from his shoulder to his neck. He doesn’t know whether to think of himself as distracted or focused, because his shoulder pains start to become the only thing he can think about. 

The recommendation to soothe anxiety related muscle aches is heat. 

His soulmark is a contradictory enigma that he fears would slowly drive him insane. His knee feels like it could buckle any moment. He wouldn’t know if it were due to anxiety or injury. 

When he’s at home. alone in bed at night. He lies incredibly still and takes account of the bones in his arms. He feels his scapula, his humerus, and his forearm. It’s a useless exercise, but one that comes to him naturally when he’s on the edge of sleep.

He would stretch twice a day and he would hide this from everyone. 

He was pitching his best. Everyone acknowledged him. He had fights with Abe, but even he respected his pitching (despite comments on his control being “lousy”) . 

He liked to focus on his plays with Abe. He would crouch steadily and catch, and that was it.

Everything was fine until Abe started to bring up his pitch limit. They fight every time he does. He chooses not to listen. He was not going to lose his pitching for a middle school game. He didn’t want to lose his shoulder. His coach had backed off quickly enough, Abe didn’t seem to understand. 

In his rush to stop, Haruna stopped thinking of his soulmate who had betrayed him simply by reminding him of Abe.

"Nice pitching Haruna" 

It was a patronizing taunt. 

It seemed to align with Abe’s suggestions that his pitching could be “better”. Abe had always had a problem with his eighty pitch limit. If it weren't for the fact that he was the only one who could catch his pitches, Haruna would've asked to switch catchers. 

He stops cutting his hair.

It seems to grow with his anger and its thrum is distracting enough to ignore the taunting words on his back. 

His hair curls past the base of his neck and starts to tickle his eyes and cheeks. A sensation he found distracted him from the constant sting of his back.

His pitch limit and his anger somehow combine into a ball of unused energy and he’s ready to pick a fight with anyone.

It was like some inward curse. The words gutted him and took what he had so carefully hidden from himself. An underlying guilt that his pitching was not as good as it should be. It drove him mad most days. The skin on his back was on fire and buzzed uncomfortably. 

On such days, where his back was a brand which no one could see but still somehow exposed him to himself, he would burst like a firecracker, popping continuously. Akimaru avoided him. He was losing his mind over it. 

At the mention of soulmates he became sick with anger. The words themselves sang with the joy of acknowledgment, his neglect being felt. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

It’s not the first time Abe asks, but Haruna won’t deign him a response any more than he usually would.

He frowns because it feels like his soulmark agrees. Something is wrong with him.

It sends waves of confusion over him.

His hair is in knots and every time he tries to comb through it, his scalp aches with the harsh pull of the brush. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

He reads it in Abe’s glare and Akimaru’s furtive glances.

He itches in his skin and keeps both hands on his kneecap. 

The burn in his shoulder is lost to the burn in his eyes when he starts to lose sleep.

In the last few months before their final middle school game, Haruna noticed that the words had started to quiet down. Wherein they used to whistle in a way that refused to go unacknowledged, now they hummed like a running fridge. Unsettling white-noise that threatened to stop at any moment.

In one of their last games, his wishes are answered and he finally gets into a fight with Abe. He gets slammed into the wall, and the words react in an odd sense of worry and comfort. He wants more, and he knows how to get under Abe’s skin, almost instinctively. He doesn’t know why what he says makes Abe mad, but doesn’t care enough to think of why.

Part of him hoped that Abe would shatter his shoulder into pieces.

For the words to be torn and broken. And for his eighty pitch limit to stop being a point of contention. 

Abe walks away.

He sits with the words heavy on his shoulder. They’d gone quiet.


	2. Cold

Mihashi’s wrist goes cold from time to time. It numbs his hand and messes with his pitching. He doesn’t feel the ball leave his hand when he pitches. He throws with a blind hope that the ball will reach the mit. His eyes zero in on it, and he stops seeing anything else. The catcher’s glare withers away as he readies himself for the pitch. He feels, or remembers feeling, what it should be like. When he holds the ball he knows _how_ to get it to the mit, but somehow can’t execute the action in his head. He doesn’t feel a difference when his arm is resting at his side or when his arm is swinging to pitch. _He may as well not be pitching at all._ The thought adds additional doubt to his poor sense of grip and his pitch goes flying weakly, missing the mit by a large distance.

His timing remains terrible and every mistake is felt. 

He pitches till his whole arm goes numb to make up for it. It takes a long time for him to adjust and he knows his team suffers for it. 

His skin is often red, and the red sometimes crawls from the inside of his wrist to his knuckles. It edges and climbs his right arm, prickling like TV static. 

The harder he pushes, the more it sinks into him. His knees are on the point of buckling, and the joint pains make him stiffer than he already is. It prevents his pitching from being what it should be and makes it harder for him to keep up with the team. 

His skin is dry and chips. He’s afraid that he won’t be able to pick up the ball the next time he steps onto the mound. 

He’s afraid that he won’t notice the ball slip from his hand. He’d pitch air and be forced to come to terms with his own uselessness. 

He was afraid that everyone would _see_. His teammates would finally confirm what they already knew. The coach would be forced to acknowledge it and would have to stop letting him pitch.

It seemed to him a mortal fear that he would be exposed and found out.

Mihashi feels what he recognizes as a foreign feeling of anger, buzzing about beneath the skin of his wrist. He thinks it _must be directed at him_. The words, “Let’s do our best” had suddenly appeared on his wrist, along with the cold, and this strange and vicious anger that crushed even his shame and made him shiver. 

He shakes his hand before stepping onto the mound in hopes that he could shake out the intruding anger that seemed to reflect his teammates glares. 

_‘I feel, I feel, I feel’_ he would think in time with the brag of his nervous beating heart.

Mihashi stays quiet. He’s afraid of being exposed, but he’s also afraid of his teammates. He’s painfully aware of Kanou.

He overhears Hatake asking Kanou to practice after regular practice hours are over.

The sun was setting quickly and the sky was shifting to a dark orange. The thought that they would be practicing after dark because of him ate him up inside. 

But he doesn’t stop pitching. He can’t feel his hand, and he can’t feel himself breathe without pitching. He can’t step off the mound. He can’t stand the idea of being hidden. He doesn’t have it in him to run. He loves pitching. He convinces himself that it would be worse to leave the mound now that the damage is already done.

He catches Kanou looking at him funny from across the field. Kanou looks like he wants to say something, but they never talk. It almost feels like he senses that Mihashi wouldn't be able to tell him anything. 

He tries one day, after practice, to ask, “are you okay?”

Mihashi freezes. He wants to say more, but doesn’t. He hides from this, looks away from Kanou’s piercing stare. He can’t bring himself to look at what a pitcher should be. 

Mihashi is at a loss for words. Mainly because his teammates don’t seem keen on hearing him say any. He stays quiet. It’s somehow worse that he doesn’t say anything. His pitches are slow, and when they hit the mit they’re quiet, almost like they’re imitating him. His teammates hate his pitches.

Mihashi stays quiet because he knows they hate _him_ as well as his pitches. They’re quiet when he comes around and only talk when he’s out of sight or at a distance. Their laughter is cut short in his presence. He can’t help feeling like a black hole taking their laughter in his orbit and extinguishing it like light, leaving in its stead a cold nothing, an empty silence.

He continues to pitch after practice, in the night, in an effort to subdue his guilt. He works himself to the bone. He doesn’t stop till he can at least attain accuracy. 

The words retaliate by giving him frostbite.

Mihashi costs his team many games. He sees their looks wane and lose interest in games they’ve given up on. They look down, avoid looking at Mihashi, they’re tired of glaring at him. 

He tries to repress his shivering as much as he can. He heaves warm breaths onto his wrist in between pitches in a sad attempt to get a grip. His joints are stiff and aching. He relies solely on muscle memory to pitch through the game.

Hatake doesn’t bother giving signs. His breaths multiply.

His arms burn. Both from excessive strain and from excessive cold.

When the game is over he stumbles off the mound and goes to hide. And it seems to him like his own personal red flag. A warning sign that he was ruined. _You can’t hide on the mound_. 

He finds the desperate need to curl up in a ball to conserve as much body heat as possible and to avoid his teammates. He curls in on himself so tightly that he can hear his breath and feels them warm him temporarily. 

His mounting worry spurs a fever. His shivering won’t stop despite the pile of blankets that he’s buried under. He holds up his wrist above his head and finally contemplates the soulmark itself.

“Let’s do our best” 

He doesn’t know what they mean, he doesn’t understand why they’re so cold. 

“Let’s do _our_ best” 

He can’t imagine anyone on the other end of the words. 

He knows that his teammates are celebrating his absence. His words had gotten him to step off the mound. They stopped time. Alone in his room, he’s isolated from his teammates glares, their vicious hatred of him. He’s alone with the words. 

He should quit baseball.

Mihashi had finally been defeated a few weeks before graduation.

He was going to give up on baseball for good, and move away to start fresh.

He was telling Kanou as much.

The words sizzled on his wrist.

He didn’t mean to cry.


	3. Nice Pitching

His soul mark had been extinguished by the time he graduated middle school. It no longer bled any feelings into him, it was still and quiet. 

He found that he had a lot of time to think when his emotions were not being mixed up and confused with somebody else's.

Now that he was in high school, things had gotten different. Maybe it was because he and Akimaru were talking again, or maybe it was because Abe was gone. Things had gotten normal.

There was nothing and no one, perched on his shoulder, anxiously shaking him up. He was well and truly alone in his being. Though he'd like to feel like he did not mind, it simply wasn't the case. 

His shoulders felt like heavy lead. He slumped over unconsciously and felt off kilter for the beginning of his first year. Pitching was uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what it was that needed readjusting, only that his shoulder felt cold now and he wasn’t sure how to find his balance. 

He's unnerved by it. 

If his soul mark is a string that someone had been tugging on this whole time, he wonders now if he could tug back and get rid of this strange stillness.

**

It’s only after a long stretch of silence that the words come back different.

He feels an itch that’s simultaneously familiar yet different. Quietly buzzing again.

He’d been practicing pitching in the bullpen with Akimaru when a flare of warmth suddenly burst across his shoulder mid-pitch.

The ball barely misses Akimaru.

Seeing that he was still, Akimaru stood from his crouch. “What? Eighty already?”

He didn’t answer. He stood quietly and tentatively brought his hand towards his shoulder.

A strong feeling of relief was there for the first time.

It felt nice.

As time passes his soulmark only further deviates from its initial state.

The fervent, painful burn from middle school is gone and replaced by a warmth that imitates adrenaline. It’s a comfortable, steady warmth. A steady thrum that brought to mind the wings of a hummingbird.

The oppressiveness of the anxiety is gone. It’s muted and manageable. What replaces the anxiety is steady relief. Each time, stronger and surer. He’s wrought with both comfort and doubt. 

While the anxiety on the other end of the mark used to bleed through to him and twist him up, there was now a comfortable distance between them that he was not sure what to make of.

**

When he spots Abe in the bleachers, he does a double take. 

When he goes over to him, Abe’s the same as usual. A brat. 

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t do as he’s told and disappears after the game is over. He grits his teeth at the disrespect and barely registers the skittering mess next to Abe.

Haruna doesn’t even acknowledge him the first time they really meet.

He thinks he wouldn’t have noticed him at all if he hadn’t slammed into him on the way out of the bathroom. 

Nishiura’s pitcher is a wound.

He crumbles and falls as though injured after bumping into _him_. He gets mad but is only met with an unnerving quiet. 

It was a brief thing.

A moment of worry when he sees himself reflected in this stranger, sitting crumpled and shaken, head between knees, gone completely unresponsive.

He grabs hold of his wrist, not out of good faith, but out of an intruding sense of dread dredged up by a sudden burst of empathy.

There’s an odd tremor in his shoulder that he dismisses. It’s a shock that melts into his own feelings.

After his initial worry, the realization that he’s crushed who he realizes is his would-be rival fills him with glee. Something about it feels manic and unnatural. He feels ready to burst with it. But the feeling is so fleeting, that he forgets it in a week.

Forgotten along with the wound Takaya has for a pitcher.

His first impression of Mihashi is that he’s won.

It’s a funny thing, because in reality, his “forgetting” did not follow what it really meant to forget. When he forgot the pitcher, it was because he would think of him without acknowledging to himself that he was thinking of him.

Though, when he pitched now, he would consider how _he_ pitched. 

Did his arm shake when he held the ball? His wrist was thin, for how long was he able to pitch? Did he follow Abe’s signs? How were they as a battery?

He would itch at his shoulder and forget.

It became a truly reflexive thing. Gone from being his jinx before pitching to a truly established habit whenever his mind strayed. 

*

It was raining. His soulmark was too warm. He could tell it was a different kind of warmth. One that was superficial, from the outside, not in.

He stood next to Akimaru outside the stadium, taking what little cover they could from the rain.

“It’s starting to rain.”

“Yeah.” 

He was soaked, but despite the rain he was enveloped in warmth.

“But rain like this won’t have much effect on the pitching, will it?”

“As far as the pitching is concerned, no.”

His soulmate was unwell.

“The forecast said it would continue to rain for a while…”

“Why’re you worrying about the weather so much? It’s annoying! Who cares about the rain anyway.”

“What do you mean ‘who cares’!” 

Akimaru’s forehead was temporarily marred by a frown which slipped into concern, “What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on his shoulder in that creepy way he did when he somehow knew Haruna was worried.

Akimaru had revealed that he knew where his soul mark's placement was.  
(“Right before you pitch, before you even pick up the ball, your hand touches your back briefly. I thought it was an unusual new habit for you to pick up out of the blue. So, your soulmark, huh?”)

He scowled, “What are you talking about ?” 

He brushes Akimaru’s hand off.

“Hm. Isn’t Takaya going up against Tosei today?”

Takaya was a reliable catcher (despite his _personality_ )

He could hold up his own.

Nishiura’s pitcher on the other hand...

“Whatever.” The thought was put out of his mind. _Whatever_.

He stops thinking of him all together. 

In fact, he doesn’t recognize the pitcher the next time he sees him until Akimaru reminds him.

He feels a little inadequate then, underestimating him after his own team’s loss. 

“Can I feel your back?”

The request catches him off guard, but he doesn’t think too hard on it.

“Sure, but don't do it too rough. Where?”

It wasn’t unusual for people to brush against his soulmark (Or even for them to say the words).

He chooses to be amiable and let’s Mihashi touch the back of his shoulders. He feels his body warm with the touch and takes a moment to brush it off. He let’s Mihashi do it again and notices that it’s not a fluke. It happens again. It’s a pleasant warmth that he’s never felt from his words before. 

*

They run into each other again during the tournament. 

He waves and Mihashi drops into a bow.

His pitch is incredibly slow and he can’t wrap his head around Tosei’s loss.

His slow fastball lacks backspin and it bothers him like nothing else.

Mihashi’s all wasted potential. And knowing Abe it could stay like that. 

He picks up on Mihashi’s control when the ball passes him by too close for comfort twice in a row. His controlled pitches suit Abe much better. 

He feels an itch in his shoulder.

Haruna is in two. He’s Haruna from a few years ago, but he’s also Haruna from now. Something new and confused. When Mihashi looks at him from the mound, he flinches and glares, and feels that he's slipped back into his old self. His back burns with Mihashi's stare and he makes sure to hold the look. 

He wants to win, now more than ever. He wanted to win against Mihashi. 

*

But they lose, and he’s a little upset.

He notices Mihashi glancing at him like he wants to say something.

“What was that dropping pitch you threw in the ninth inning?”

Abe smacks him in the face before he can answer, “You pitched very well until the end.”

He genuinely can’t tell if the comment is well intentioned or patronising. 

While getting dragged away Mihashi turns to him, “N-Nice pitching Haruna!”


	4. It's raining and you're sick

Mihashi keeps playing baseball in highschool despite himself.  
He only wanted to look but was somehow dragged in. The coach wants to play his old team.  
He spends his nights thinking about it.  
When he looks at his wrist, it’s dark and he can’t see the words, but he knows they’re there. He feels like he’s his middle school self, feverish and lost.  
They’re already on a fieldtrip and he can feel Abe’s disappointment rolling off in waves when he sees him curled up in a ball.  
He had to change his personality or he would be kicked off the team.  
*  
The game against his ex-teammates gives him a sense of eerie nostalgia. He’s afraid of them. That much is the same, but the soulmark doesn’t act up like it used to.  
His hands are cold when Hatake finds him alone. His body seems to react from muscle memory. He curls up like he used to and hides his face between his knees. 

Abe holds his hand, and he warms up to a near-normal temperature. 

When the game is over, Mihashi finally faces his old team. He’s afraid, but Abe’s hand on his back keeps him from running. He focuses on the touch and uses it to ground himself.  
He was glad. A small part of him regretted not having been able to reconcile with his teammates before having transferred.  
His worry vanished along with his anxiety. There’s no longer anything to keep him awake, and nothing was stopping his lack of sleep from catching up to him. He’s asleep before he knows it. On a day which should’ve made it too warm to sleep in his uniform, his body felt blissfully cool. 

Soon after, they start to prepare for the Summer Tournament.

He runs into Sakaeguchi, one morning, walking to school.  
It’s then that something that can only be likened to a shooting star-- comes crashing into his thoughts, and, unexpectedly, onto his wrist.  
He is being-- crushed, by a star.  
The first time Mihashi hears about Haruna, Sakaeguchi is off-handedly mentioning that there was an amazing pitcher in the senior team in his middle school who paired with Abe.  
It’s a statement that sticks to him. An amazing pitcher. The statement crushes him. The size it takes on in his thoughts is enough to dazzle him. Before he knows it, he’s holding onto it. Abe’s pitcher, an amazing pitcher, was probably what Abe saw when he was looking at him. Mihashi paled in comparison, and Abe had to settle for him.  
Mihashi starts to relate to Abe. Because when he pitched (he knew, before he even stepped on the mound) that he’d be pitching with a star burning through his mind, that this had to be what Abe felt like, what he saw. His wrist started to hum with his star-like thoughts, like it was getting in tune with the statement.  
What sound does a shooting star make?  
Mihashi is almost certain that it’s the sound that his buzzing wrist is making.  
*  
“I could forgive you if rushed in, but rushing out is--”  
He feels the strength leave his legs before he can notice.  
He grabs Mihashi by the wrist the first time they meet. His words respond, the coolness on his skin resurfaces.  
“Hey, are you alright?”  
“F-fine!”  
“Okay, don’t run around the bathroom anymore, okay?”  
He’s so elated to know that this amazing pitcher was not the worst as Abe had put it, but was in fact ‘A nice person!’ That he blurts out as much when Abe calls.

Before he knows it, Haruna’s leaning on the wall, caging him in. His brain short circuits and he’s unable to answer Haruna’s questions. Sakaeguchi thankfully intervenes. He takes a good look at Haruna then. He takes in the broad shoulders, the left hand that had briefly held his wrist. He’s got stars for eyes. All to sum up what he’d already been told. He was looking at a star pitcher.  
“Let’s do our best.”  
He’s brought back to the first time he’d been told of Haruna and he’d felt the crushing weight of his talent. His wrist hummed pleasantly while he was crushed once more.  
He hears the words and feels overjoyed first, then confused. His words are hidden under his sleeve, but he feels them ringing in his head.  
*  
It’s raining. Mihashi feels too warm, but he’s filled with energy. His soulmark acts like an ice pack and regulates his body temperature somewhat. Abe feels his hand and then his forehead.  
Mihashi sees his eyebrows knit together and feels the need to reassure him. He shows him his soulmark and lets Abe place his palm over it.  
“It’s always been c-cold.”  
His usual stutter makes it seem like he’s colder than he really is.  
“‘Let’s do our best’. Your soulmate and I would get along.” He sees Abe flash him a rare smile. With one last grip of his hand, Abe returns to the field and Mihashi takes his place on the mound.  
*  
Mihashi is shaken. He thinks of Haruna all the time and he can't stop. He’s at a loss.  
There on the field, on the mound. He’s pitching to try to get his mind off things (because when he pitches everything is right in the world, his heart is on fire, and he just knows that it’s where he should be). Unfortunately, even the mound can’t distract him from Haruna. 

When he pitches he thinks of how Haruna pitches. He doesn’t hold much hope that Haruna is actually his soulmate (maybe it was a fluke?).  
Haruna can't be his soulmate after all, the gap between their pitching was too big. He starts to worry about it and starts to lose sleep in the way he’s prone to when he’s upset. He’s afraid his teammates will notice. They’ll worry he can't concentrate and force him to stop being the ace and Mihashi can’t have that. He knows he can’t be with Haruna but losing the mound isn’t an option.  
Everything is right for him right now.  
He decides to try to brush Haruna off (off his wrist?)  
It’s admiration he feels. Haruna is the best pitcher he's ever met. He’s a great person.  
(He knows it’s not a fluke)  
*  
The next time he encounters Haruna, he’s with Abe.  
He’d been captivated by Haruna’s pitching during the game and couldn’t help but request to feel his back. He wanted to strive to be like that. Fast and powerful pitches. He wanted to change his pitching to alleviate Abe’s burden, to be more reliable.  
*  
Mihashi becomes the team's designated ice pack.  
They'd all found out about his soulmark through Tajima.  
Tajima himself found out coincidentally (much like Abe) when he'd grabbed Mihashi's forearm after practice.  
It was normal for Mihashi to be a bit on the cooler side in his normal state, but his cool temperature now seemed particularly unusual considering how sweaty Tajima's hand (and the rest of him) had gotten in comparison.  
So much so that Tajima stopped mid-drag to look back and study Mihashi who in turn started to fidget uncomfortably. With his usual deadpan way of stating things, he finally broke the silence and asked, "Mihashi, why is your arm so cold?"  
Under his piercing stare, Mihashi considered telling him. He'd not been purposefully trying to hide his soulmark, nor did he foresee any possibility that Tajima would dislike him if he told him (in fact, not telling him would definitely cause him to get angry). So Mihashi pulled out of Tajima's loosening grasp and upturned his wrist to shyly reveal his mark.  
"I-I used to be c-colder. We met, t-they know me. They're a good person."  
Tajima thumbed his wrist, only briefly glancing at it before looking back up to Mihashi.  
"They're nice to you?" He asked, tone still serious.  
"T-they're amazing." Mihashi stared back.  
Tajima broke out into his usual grin, as though he were truly relieved to hear Mihashi was not unhappy with his soulmate.

From then on, Tajima built the habit of going to Mihashi during breaks in their practice, to hold his arm to his sweaty forehead.  
("You don't mind right?"  
"No! G-go ahead!")  
Sometimes, when Mihashi was heading over to Tajima's after practice, Tajima would hold his hand on the way there.

It was only a matter of time before the rest of the team questioned their recent change.  
There had been heat wave warnings which Momokan and Shiga announced would alter their training slightly. They would have pairs group off and take breaks during practice to hydrate and cool off.

Hanai and Izumi noticed Mihashi agreeing to let Tajima press his cheek against his belly while cooling off in the batter's box.  
"W-what are you guys doing?" Hanai asked, slightly disconcerted.  
"Mihashi's cold! It feels nice!" Hanai's furrow deepened with his confusion. Izumi simply sat next to Mihashi letting out a simple, "Can I?", which Mihashi fervently nodded to as Izumi took hold of his hand.  
"Ah! You're right! It feels the same as holding onto a cold drink!"  
Tajima emerged from inside Mihashi's collar, startling him, and exclaiming, "Yeah! Like lying down on a cool tiled floor!" Which Izumi solemnly nodded to.  
"You guys are weird..." Hanai mumbled looking at them further puzzled.  
Though, once they were both called back to the field by Momokan, his curiosity got the better of him and he turned his disconcerted look to Mihashi. Whom, under the quiet attention, started to feel afraid that Hanai was going to scold him for something.  
Instead, the captain suddenly yelled out, "Can I feel your hand too!" Once more startling Mihashi as he let out an unsure and teary, "Yes?" Before realizing that Hanai wasn't trying to scold him.  
On Hanai's end, he wasn't sure if he was making it weird, but there was a strange tension in the air making him blush, as Mihashi gently took hold of his hand. They both avoided looking at each other.  
From then on, everyone started to follow suit, until they created a Mihashi centred cuddle pile on his living room floor. Izumi and Oki had their foreheads pressed to each of his cheeks, Tajima had laid claim to his stomach, Abe to his chest, Hanai and Suyama held onto each of his hands and Sakaeguchi, Mizutani and Nishihiro held onto his legs.  
(Hanai yelled, "This isn't even slightly comfortable!" But did not let go of Mihashi's hand.) 

They start to become casually affectionate with him. And Mihashi gets used to casually accepting it. They always approach him, get really close, then wait for Mihashi to nod to give them the Ok before clinging to him. Izumi particularly liked giving him back hugs (and seems extra pleased when Mihashi stops hesitating to call him Kou-chan). Abe likes to casually hold his hand outside of games (He's also quite pleased when Mihashi starts responding to his texts quickly).  
Hanai remains the shyest of the bunch, always making sure no one is looking before holding Mihashi's hand.

He starts to wonder if he could ever have such an easy affection with Haruna.  
There is a distance between them, thinks there must've always been.  
Whether it be soul mark or skill, there was always an unbridgeable gap separating them.  
He sometimes forgets the mark is Haruna's. It's a mix of admiration and denial lulling him into complacence when regarding what it would mean to have this mark. He likes to admire quietly, always has. He has a star picked up and frozen in place onto his wrist, stuck to him like glitter glue. He thinks he sees it gleam when the sun hits it directly. A golden, “Let’s do our best!”  
He wants to think it’s a fluke.  
*  
They start the tournament playing against Musashino. Mihashi’s feeling all kinds of funny ways. His stomach goes from doing large loops to twisting painfully. He chalks it up to nervousness, but part of him knows his mind is somewhere else. He's not fully prepared to think of it yet. Musashino will be a hard team to play, they have Haruna afterall.  
A loop and a twist.  
The pitching is what he has to focus on. His pitching will have to win against Haruna.  
He wants to see him. Maybe then he’ll be able to get him off his mind. He wondered what it would be like to play against him on the same mound. He’s excited, despite wanting to tamper it down. His unwarranted excitement bubbles in his heart and tightens his muscles.  
Everything’s glowing. Somehow, it’s like he’s always known summer was bright, but he’s noticing it for the first time and his heart is full. It’s a silly feeling but he thinks of Haruna and he’s washed away by the surge of unnamed emotion that rises to his head and makes his wrist shine.


	5. Can I Call you Tonight?

It’s Mihashi. He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks it’s Mihashi. When he concentrates, he thinks he can still feel the brittle hand on his back. There is a fluttering of shy wings, soft and anxious, unable to stop.

The soulmark is a heavy thing and he's afraid that if he acknowledges it Mihashi will notice. 

The nature of it being out of his hand makes him uncomfortable. To process means to reveal. He’d be exposed before having made up his mind, his own thoughts, on it. He's unsure how to feel but he starts thinking about it in roundabout ways. 

The slow fastball, the heavy gaze from the mound…

Haruna’s hand drifts to his shoulder. ‘He pitched through a whole game’

There was a potential in Mihashi’s play that made him look forward to seeing him again on the field. 

He tells himself he’s excited to play and that’s it.

*****

“Haruna, the coach says we’ve arranged a practice match with Takaya’s team.”

He was washing his face under the tap when Akimaru came by to announce their next game. 

“Oh.” 

He felt caught off guard. He’d put Mihashi so carefully out of his head that he’d failed to consider that the ace could re-enter his life so soon after their tournament game.

Akimaru paused, “Oh?” 

He groaned, making his way towards the changing rooms.

“Whose approval are you trying to get?”

He doesn’t know what gave it away. Whether it be Akimaru’s tone of voice or his unjustly stern eyes. Akimaru always acted like an extension to him. This worked for the most part, but there were these misunderstandings integrated in their relationship which always seemed to leave Haruna out of the loop. An imbalance that seemed to thrive on Akimaru’s mark, and that alienated him.

Haruna instinctively knows that Akimaru is going to confront him about something he shouldn’t. 

He’s proven right when Akimaru follows with, “At first, I thought it was Abe. But every time my thoughts even suggest this, my mark acts like a buzzer going off for a wrong answer.”

(That might explain Akimaru’s random flinches and the heavy stares he directed towards Haruna)

He continues to pointedly ignore him while changing, which does nothing to discourage Akimaru.

“You’ve been like this since before-- in middle school. It’s like it’s never  _ enough _ .”

He turns his back to Akimaru to shove his belongings in his bag. (Belongings which are currently sabotaging his escape plan by spilling over at the slightest shove).

“It’s never enough so you gave up without pushing--”

“I don’t want to hear that from  _ you _ .”

That got Akimaru to quiet down for a moment.

But Akimaru never gives up talking.

“This and that are different--”

“Different!”

“Yeah. I gave up because of you. But who are you giving up for?”

Arguing with Akimaru was the worst. He’s usually unable to tell what’s going through Haruna's head but when he's right it’s only ever about what he doesn’t want him to know. 

(Would he be able to do that without the mark?)

“I’m not giving up on anything.” 

*

The days leading up to the practice match, Haruna’s mark starts to feel like sunlight. It’s a pleasant warmth that makes him comfortably drowsy. 

He wonders what Mihashi is thinking. He wonders if he knows.

The argument he’d had with Akimaru weighed on his mind. He was no longer the same person he’d been in middle school. Akimaru was wrong about him.

*

On the day of the game, their coach insists on talking to Nishiura’s coach before the start of the game.

The teams were scattered about whilst waiting for the coaches to finish and the game to start. Mihashi was looking back at him. It was different from the look he’d given him from the mound during the tournament. It was shyer, softer, and shorter. He looked away with a blush.

A pat on the back broke him out of his trance.

“What is it?” It was Akimaru, “You want to talk to Takaya?” 

He can’t help but glare. 

“That’s a no then.”

He felt compelled to clear things up without revealing too much, “Well, what was that pitcher’s name again?” 

“What? Mihashi? This is like, the third time you’ve met him, you don’t know his name?”

He hadn’t expected Akimaru to have remembered his name. He threw another brief glance at Mihashi, “You know him?”

“Oh! Uh… Yeah! I know him a little! We ran into each other at some point. Abe was there too. He mostly talked about you.” 

Haruna was stunned (not an unusual feeling to arise when talking to Akimaru), “W-who? Takaya? Mihashi?”

Akimaru chuckled, “Well, Mihashi.”

It would’ve almost made sense if it were Takaya, but Mihashi… “What would Mihashi have to say about me?” He was getting more and more agitated and Akimaru seemed to sense it, giving him a strange look, but still choosing to answer.

“Your pitching mainly. I also give him advice on being a battery,” He paused, now also looking towards Mihashi, “It feels nice being looked up to for a change. I think that’s why we became friends so quickly. Though it’s nothing compared to how he thinks of you.” Akimaru chuckled again, as though what he’d said wasn’t all that shocking.

“You--” 

“Come on, the game’s about to start. We can talk later!”

*

His advice seemed to have paid off. Mihashi’s pitches are faster and his control is sloppier. But his fastballs aren’t so slow now, he’s easier to hit, but Takaya’s lead is hard to work around. 

*

The ball has already left his hand by the time he’s realized his aim’s off by a dangerous amount. The ball makes a terrible thudding sound, and his eyes screw shut as pain starts to ripple through his shoulder, somehow muted like an echo of the real thing. 

It’s a terrible confirmation of his doubts. 

It was Mihashi.

It’s the single clear thing coming through the fog of pain throwing off his focus. 

When he opens his eyes, he sees Mihashi collapsed on the knee that hadn’t taken the impact, with Abe hovering about closely. 

His pitch had hit Mihashi in the calf. 

A time out is called.

He’s unable to process the pain in his shoulder and Mihashi’s injured state simultaneously and is left staring blankly at the crumpled pitcher being rushed to by his teammates. He’s practically being cradled in Takaya’s lap. His eyes are shut tightly and his hand is gripping at his calf.

“Lift his pant leg up!” Abe was yelling into the surrounding crowd of teammates gathered around them. One of them does as he says to reveal an irate reddening splotch.

Abe’s expression turns to horror, and it’s at this moment Mihashi slowly blinks his eyes open, before squeaking out an, “I’m fine!”

“No you’re not!”

He hadn’t even realized that he’d yelled in sync with Takaya till he noticed the latter staring at him. He looks away, embarrassed. 

Takaya helps Mihashi up and has him lean on his shoulder. 

He asks to be benched soon after, (“I twisted my arm wrong, nothing too serious, but just to be safe i’ll sit this one out.”) 

He feels awful about having injured Mihashi, is upset he didn’t get to take a closer look at the wound. 

He keeps stretching his shoulder to try and shake out the discomfort.

“Is it him?” Akimaru was sitting next to him on the bench.

“Yeah.” 

He looked across the field to the Nishiura dugout. 

The game is a blur, he’s barely aware they’re being called to lineup before they’re all exiting the field. 

Mihashi had received crutches and was limping out behind the rest of his team.

He ran over to him. 

“Hey!”

Mihashi startles and almost loses his balance on his crutches. Haruna catches his shoulders just in time. He notes that he’s put on a little muscle since last time.

“H-h-hey…” 

“That asshole Abe probably didn’t pass you my number right?” Mihashi’s eyes seem to glaze over, he heavily doubts that he’s listening, but he goes on anyway, “I feel really bad about your leg. I’m pretty good at taking care of injuries so I was thinking it'd be good to have your number…” 

“I-- yes, well, no-- uh… Number?”

There are sudden tears in Mihashi’s eyes, which make him worry that his injury is acting up. “Are you--” Before he can say anything, Mihashi shoves his phone in his hands.

He registers the number in his phone whilst throwing worried glances to Mihashi who is looking in every direction except his.

Mihashi leaves.


	6. To see

Haruna.

Mihashi wants to say something. 

They haven’t seen each other in a while. 

He sees him from afar, and his heart clenches at the sight almost unconsciously. His wrist is itching and somehow he confuses his itchy wrist with the itch to go talk to him. His whole body feels tingly, and he hates that he’s so excited. His mind clears up, looking at Haruna. Haruna isn’t even looking back at him or anything, he’s just talking to the catcher, but Mihashi can’t will himself to look away. 

Haruna suddenly turns towards him. Mihashi is frozen for a moment, he’s staring straight back and he’s caught in the intensity of his eyes. Until he realizes how he must have looked, staring at him so intently. He’d made Haruna uncomfortable. 

He looks down, ashamed. 

But Haruna’ s gaze stays intently set on him. And everything feels like it’s twisting in Mihashi, in good and bad ways. He was confused. His wrist went so cold that it felt like it was on fire. He felt his face warm.

He ‘d like to be far from Haruna, where it was safe to think of him.

It almost seemed like Haruna was going to walk over to him. Instead he turned back towards Akimaru.

“Mihashi, hands.”

It was Abe. Instinctually, he placed his hands in Abe’s and flinched. Abe flinched as well.

“You’re stressed?” He asked, seemingly perplexed.

He couldn’t possibly tell Abe about Haruna. The worst pitcher. 

So before Abe could bring up his soulmark Mihashi responded, “Not-- Ah… Stressed. It’s nothing…” 

Abe frowned.

“Your soulmark?”

He looks to the side, to avoid Abe’s persistent glare. His eyes land on Haruna and they’re both looking at eachother again. Mihashi turns away too quickly and Abe notices. He sees Abe look towards Haruna, but it’s as though Mihashi had imagined the moment and Haruna had gone back to talking to Akimaru.

“Ah! You don’t have to worry about him. We’ll win.” 

Mihashi is a little lost and his gut feeling is telling him that Abe has grossly misunderstood everything. But Mihashi doesn’t correct him. It’s easier for him to let Abe believe whatever he wants, and maybe, if he’s lucky, it’ll become the truth.

*

He was hit by a dead ball from Haruna. 

He doesn’t want to leave the field despite this. He’d been looking forward to playing against Haruna since the tournament.

“I’m fine!” 

He says it expecting that Abe would get mad, but to his surprise, Haruna seems mad too. 

His calf is red and swollen, and the tingly feeling from the initial impact is slowly fading and turning into pain. He wants to keep pitching more than anything, but Abe carries him towards the dugout, ignoring his meek protests. 

*

“That asshole Abe probably didn’t pass you my number right?”

There are so many things going through his head at this instant, that he almost believes time really has frozen, and he remains incredibly still, as though his movement would reignite whatever mysterious force had caused the world to come to a halt. 

But Haruna’s the one that breaks the time warp. His expression shifts, and Mihashi realizes he’s gone completely still for an unnatural amount of time.

And his brain tries to catch up all at once and he’s lost all his words as a result.

“I-- yes, well, no-- uh… Number?”

Stupidly enough he feels tears sting his eyes, and it’s completely unintentional. He hasn’t even had the time to feel embarrassed yet. But something about the way the words not coming out the way he wanted them to, seems like it’s almost unconsciously twisting his gut. 

He swipes his hands across his eyes like it’s the most casual thing to do. 

When he makes eye contact with Haruna again, there is a strange look of confusion and mild worry.

“Are you--”

“Number!”

Mihashi shoves his phone in Haruna’s hand and looks away.

Thankfully, Haruna doesn’t say anything and adds his number to Mihashi’s phone. 

Before the interaction can go on any longer, Mihashi leaves.

*

For the days that follow the game, he’s bedridden. 

Abe had threatened to take away his “1” if he saw him on the field, so Mihashi stayed in bed.

He’d gotten a call from Haruna, but had panicked too much to actually pick up. He’d left all his texts unread, and refused to even look at his phone. Haruna was going to hate him. His mark suddenly turned cold and sent a shiver through his spine. Further confirming that Haruna could not stand him. He hid under his covers until sunrise, unable to sleep. 

He passed out in the morning and was only awoken by the doorbell sometime in the afternoon. 

Abe had come by to visit.

“You’re not responding to my texts again.” 

Mihashi looked away, ashamed at having his bad habit appear. He was unsure of how to respond, and Abe seemed to understand this, so he went on, “Momokan talked to me… I just wanted to let you know that you could come to the field and sit in the dugout to watch us practice…” He scratched his neck, “S-sorry for overreacting”

“N-no! I’m so-sorry!”

Abe frowned, “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I-i’m-- The text! So-sorry…”

A look of understanding dawned on Abe, “It’s alright.”

They’d gotten better at talking even when they didn’t understand each other.

Abe stayed for supper and left later that night.

The next day, he decides to follow Abe’s suggestion and comes by to practice in the evening.

It’s fairly uneventful for the most part. Shinooka keeps him company with the coach’s dog.

He hates that he may be holding her back from doing her work just because he’s injured. 

She looks at him sympathetically, and something of the feeling in her eyes is translated onto his wrist. Would Haruna look at him like that? He’d looked more like something between lost and horrified when he’d been looking at Mihashi from the mound after he’d collapsed. 

Practice goes by quietly until Abe comes by to check how he’s doing and his phone rings. 

He steps away, glancing at him occasionally while he talked, when he suddenly comes by again.

Abe picks up his phone, “It’s Haruna, he wants to speak to you.”

Panic sets in and Mihashi can only express it by shaking his head fervently, which sends the appropriate message to Abe, “Huh. He’s not here.”

Abe continued to stare at him while answering. “Yep. Nope, he’s still at home recovering, sorry, I can’t help you.”

And he thinks that’s the end of it. He probably wouldn’t see Haruna again. 

He keeps this in mind, repeats it to himself in a weak reassurance that he really wouldn’t mind never seeing Haruna again. 

Of course, he did mind. He thought about it nearly every night; How he just had to pick up the phone and call. It wasn’t as big a deal as it felt. But in his heart this wasn’t so different from how he felt when he decided to leave Mihoshi. There was a tight swell in his chest that made him shift uncomfortably in bed and ate up the space in his head for thoughts. It was a blank panic that refused to settle. And like with Mihoshi, he kept wrestling with the feeling for a long time, his nights were restless for a while.

But summer was coming to an end. And some part of him knew that too much time will have passed to contact Haruna once summer is gone.

Haruna will have forgotten him, and Mihashi will regret having missed his shot.

He decides to call him right then.


	7. Sun Star

There’s a knock at his door. 

Haruna had really come by.

He’d been in a near trance when they made the arrangement. Haruna had picked up the phone, groggy and lost, and Mihashi had seriously considered hanging up before Haruna could realize who had called him. As he was about to do so, a crackled, “Mihashi?” came through the receiver. He knew then it was too late for him to backtrack and act like nothing happened. 

"Yes..."

There was a moment of silence broken up by the rustling of sheets on the other end.

"Why—?" It seemed to have taken a lot of effort for Haruna to formulate this question, and Mihashi was starting to feel more and more guilty for having woken him up so late. "Um... Well, s-sorry, I shouldn't—"

"Never mind," more rustling of sheets, he sounded more awake now. "Can I come by tomorrow? To check on your leg?"

"Y-yes!" 

He'd agreed on a date and time, sent him his address, yet still did not expect him to actually show up. 

There at his door, Haruna stood, hands in his pocket, with a grocery bag draped on his wrist. 

"Hey."

"H-hello!"

Mihashi dropped to a bow. He thinks he hears Haruna chuckle softly above him.

He's so distracted by the sound that he is caught off guard when a hand is laid on the crown of his head and his hair is ruffled gently.

He can't help but to look up at Haruna shocked, mouth agape.

"You're so unlike Takaya."

Unlike him? He started to wonder if Haruna had already gotten to dislike him. Maybe he'd called too late. He did ignore him at first, which was incredibly rude. His pitching was not yet up to par to Abe's skill level and he still relied heavily on the catcher. Perhaps Haruna was admonishing his lack of skill. 

"You're so polite compared to him." 

Mihashi realized that he'd been standing there quietly for too long. Before he could apologize, Haruna's hand had found its way back to his hair. 

He walked past him and into his house.

Mihashi followed suit and led him straight to his room. 

Haruna walked in, took account of his room (of the mess). And Mihashi was once more starstruck. Haruna was in his room.

He felt chills come up from his wrist. From his toes up his back. 

“You should lie down.” He said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

It was quiet for an awful moment. Mihashi struggled to think of what to say or know what to feel.

“So…” Haruna broke the silence, “Does it still hurt too much to do stretches?”

“N-no I did them today.”

Another long silence.

Mihashi is afraid he looks foolish, sitting in a mountain of blankets, pooling around him, making him seem so much smaller than he already was. He only felt that much smaller when he glanced at Haruna. It was strange to see his room in the sunlight with Haruna in it when just last night he’d been thinking of Haruna with his phone cradled to his chest. His wrist was like ice now. He feared that if he brought his other hand to it in a nervous gesture his hand would stick to it and would not come unstuck. 

“Could I see your mark?”

Haruna had broken the silence, and seemed to glance up with him with the same burning fever he had on the mound. A flame for Mihashi to circle around like a moth. 

Mihashi realizes that the sun is a star whilst looking at Haruna. His mark, the embodiment of a shooting star, now looked like a miniature of what Haruna encompassed. 

What more can he do than meekly show his wrist, for Haruna to scoot closer and hold with a grip so soft you wouldn’t know he was the ace pitcher. 

“Let’s do our best? That’s…”

Mihashi was mortified. It wasn’t reciprocated. He did look foolish, attached like this to Haruna. He tried to swallow his welling tears.

Haruna’s eyes were still fixed on his wrist. His face was red all over but he did not know how to pull away. 

“Isn’t that what I said when I first met you?”

Mihashi nodded, ashamed that it was true.

“Nice pitching. It’s what you said at the end of our game.”

Mihashi nodded, not quite understanding.

“It’s on my back.”

He nodded again not really listening. 

“Do you-- It’s on my back.” Haruna turned away and lifted his shirt so as to reveal his back. Mihashi looked up, unsure, and started to register the words scrawled there. 

His hand had lifted without his knowledge, softly brushing against the words, in shock.“Nice pitching, Haruna…” 

Haruna suddenly turned around to look at him again. He stared intently, his hand had drifted back to Mihashi’s mark , thumbing lightly over the words again. He seemed to expect a reaction from Mihashi, Mihashi didn’t know how to give it to him.

*

The afternoon ends there. Haruna read through his face, felt it through his mark. Waves of soft cold wrap around him making the blankets feel perfectly temperate rather than overheated by the sunlight spilling still in his room. Haruna had ruffled his hair gently when he left. The sun was setting with the moment. Haruna would wait for him. 

*

Their relation to each other changes after that. Mihashi starts to answer his texts. Haruna comes by more often.

*

Haruna is in his room again.

He’s sleeping over, lying next to him and talking about pitching.

He’s doing most of the talking, and Mihashi couldn’t possibly be happier than to lie there and listen to him. He’s entranced.

Haruna stops talking a moment and stares back at Mihashi, taking notice of him, “What?”

A small, not quite shy, smile crept up on his face. It was coy, delighted. And Mihashi was impossibly distracted. So much so that Haruna got up in a seated position, looking down at Mihashi before asking again, “What?”, laughing this time. 

Mihashi leaned up on his elbow and merely shook his head. To form words with Haruna paying such careful attention to him was impossible.

“Show me your hand.” Haruna gently took hold of his hand, as though he was afraid that any abrupt movement would cause Mihashi to pull away.

Haruna felt up and down his fingers, like Abe did before their first game.

Mihashi is used to focusing on small details, like words that he likes or texts he receives. But he’s usually not so focused on people.

Haruna tucks his hair behind his ear and Mihashi can’t help fixating on the movement. 

Haruna smiles at him.

A soft, charming thing, a little mischievous, that lingers. His eyes scrunch and glisten. Mihashi’s at a loss. 

He’s warmer in this moment than he’s ever been in his life. He feels the burn on his cheeks, and the words die in his throat.

It’s only a moment, but Mihashi’s stuck in it. He wants to see it again.


	8. Better

Mihashi looked at him with stars in his eyes. His eyes shone when he looked at him. It was making Haruna sick.

It had been flattering at first. It still is, except now it’s tinged with embarrassment, and disbelief. 

Haruna enjoyed being praised, enjoyed being arrogant about it at first (especially with Abe). 

But he was slowly getting redder and redder at the passing comments.

“Nice pitching!”, Mihashi yells at him when he’s around to see his practice pitching. He looks at him like every move he makes is a feat that needs to be admired. He likes this. Likes that Mihashi puts so much faith in him. He likes that he was wrong in thinking that he’d been disappointed in his pitching. Most of all he likes the steady thrum of warmth that surrounds them when they are together. 

Haruna realizes a series of things slowly, one by one, with retrospect.

How his soul mark reacted to different things showing a clear pattern. 

He knows, or starts to know, Mihashi. And it makes sense. His monstrous control and his freaky trick pitch are the results of his unstoppable determination to push himself harder than he should. 

"Nice pitching Haruna"

It's not a taunt. In fact, it's such a show of recognition that it now makes something sweet swell and soar in his chest. 

Someone so small and thin framed, the only pitcher in the team, pitching through entire games. 

He starts to look at the mark differently. There's a sheen of admiration in his new contemplations. He admires Mihashi.

It's a nice, slow evening, when they talk about their marks. 

As they make their way down a sloped road, shoulders bumping. Haruna decides to break the silence (Mihashi doesn't seem likely to speak up).

Though, just as he's about to speak, Mihashi does pipe up, to his surprise, "How was it f-for you, the s-soulmark?"

"It’s a mix of anxiousness and determination. It's warm."

They looked at each other for a moment. 

"And for you?"

Mihashi wrung his hands, "Amazing and c-cold."

Haruna must make a pained expression because Mihashi is quick to add, "N-not bad cold! More like... cool, refreshing."

He smiles, despite himself. Which seems to encourage Mihashi to keep speaking (he takes note of that) 

“You make me want to be better.”

Haruna turns away wide eyed and red. His elbow hides his face before he knows it. 

This was the first time Mihashi had spoken to him without a stutter, and of course, he had to say something embarrassingly sweet. Abe doesn’t deserve him. 

“Y-you too.” It’s muffled in his elbow and he can see that Mihashi didn’t catch that judging from his agape bird-like expression. His face is so easy to read that he knows he’s expecting him to repeat himself. 

Haruna is now glowing red when he says, “You made me better.”

Mihashi trips and falls.

“Are you okay!” Haruna has a sudden painful twist of worry.

“M-me y-y-you! What?” Mihashi has jumped up like nothing happened.

Haruna inspects him anyway, “That’s- I don’t know what you’re saying.” He states, turning Mihashi this way and that. “Nothing hurts?” 

Mihashi violently shakes his head. All the energy is suddenly drained out of him as he slumps over shyly and barely looks up at him. “B-better?” 

Haruna is red again. 

“Yeah. You made me better.”

Mihashi is red too now.

They’re both standing face to face on the curb now. Haruna has leaned onto him so their foreheads are pressed together. 

“You’re embarrassing” He can’t help but say.

“S-sorry”

“It’s not a bad thing.” 

“Oh.”

“You make me better.” He says it one last time for emphasis. Mihashi pulls away slightly, to look up at him and smile. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
